the Express
by LuminaCarina
Summary: Summers in London have always been so tedious. Or: why James Sirius Potter can't have nice things. Muggle!AU


**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter**

 **Words:** 4606

 **Summary:** Summers in London have always been so tedious. Or: why James Sirius Potter can't have nice things.

 **AN:** This is wish-fulfilment. Also, I'm practicing writing romance. Also, my Other Project is drinking my brain through a straw, so, yeah. This.

#

Thud, thud, _thud_. Thud.

''Is this on?''

 _Crash._

''Now look – now _look_ what you made me do!''

''Moron! What –''

''Stop messing around with that! Dad's going to –''

''– stop being such a sissy! _Lily_!''

Thud.

''Damn it! This is why we can't have nice things!''

#

The Hogwarts Express is an old train, by all rights a disaster waiting to happen, and it's only because the city wants to placate its elder citizens that it wasn't scrapped for the junkyard already. As it is, James likes it just fine, thank you very much. Regardless of its faded exterior, decrepit interior, and lack of emergency exits… it's an alright train.

It rattles as it goes.

Rattle, rattle. _Whoosh_. Rattle, rattle. _Whoosh_. Rattle –

And so on and so forth.

There are never that many people on board. Mostly old people, reliving their youth. You see, there's a reason it's called the _Hogwarts_ Express. Hogwarts used to be this really famous school up North. It was destroyed in a terrorist attack, way back in the nineties.

So now the train does circles around London itself, stalking through the prairie of lush yet bland greenery, sneaking on the outskirts of the city like a cat sneaks around the legs of those who feed it – James wants to be a writer when he finishes school, if you haven't noticed yet.

Rattle, rattle. _Whoosh_.

There's a woman opposite of him. Dark brown hair, pale skin, jeans and a blouse. A bottle of beer, the old-fashioned kind, from glass and everything. She looks like your average middle-aged screw-up.

No umbrella, even though the muggy weather outside promises rain soon.

That's one of the reasons why James hates London. Actually, that's why he hates the whole of the British Isles. The weather is disgusting, especially when compared to the dry heat of coastal France. But Beauxbatons is both miles and months away from him.

Rattle, rattle. _Whoosh_.

Brown-Hair mindlessly traces circles on the lip of her bottle.

It's starting to get on his nerves; it's making his fingers itch. Besides, it's so unhygienic. When you think of what she must be smearing on there with her dirty hands, she might as well just start eating from the floor. The results will be the same.

Rattle, rattle. _Screech_.

Thank god for King's Cross.

#

Lily gets motion sick.

It's why no one likes traveling anywhere with her: whoever the poor idiot is, they're bound to end up holding her hair as she vomits up yesterday's breakfast.

Rattle, rattle. _Whoosh_.

She doesn't like trains. His sister is very much ''green'' and she thinks that all modes of transport with engines are appalling. But today is a special day.

''Can you believe it?''

Today, she's angry.

''No,'' he responds dutifully. ''I really can't.''

She doesn't seem to notice his disinterest, because she merely tugs on her pigtail and cries out once more: ''I know, right? Right?! I can't believe it…''

James can believe all too well, but – he still can't believe it. It's about that camera his Dad bought for Mum. An anniversary gift, and a chillingly expensive one. But, when your wife's a journalist and an amateur photographer with a hard-on for techno gadgets…

Anyway, Lily borrowed it, cracked the lens, and then brought it home for her brothers to fix. Sadly, neither James nor Albus had magical wands that would make the crack disappear. The three of them then proceeded to get in a fight about who should take the blame, aka Lily panicked and tried to shift responsibility, and the camera ended up with another crack, this one unfixable.

Ginny Potter was most put out, and she showed her wrath magnificently. James can't go to France for the entire summer, Albus can't go visit his best friend, and Lily can't go out after seven pm, period. _Till she turns sixteen_. Talk about cold.

Rattle, rattle. _Whoosh_.

Brown-Hair is sitting opposite from them, and she has a beer bottle with her again. She sneaks looks in their direction every now and then, and there's a half-smile on her face. James really hates her.

''Jamie, listen to _meee_!'' Lily grabbed him and whined.

Rattle, rattle. _Whoosh_.

He closes his eyes. Counts to ten. ''I'm listening.''

''How am I supposed to go see Lulu if I can't – oh. I'm going to be sick –''

Brown-Hair takes a swig out her bottle to hide her smirk. James really, _really_ hates her.

#

Rattle, rattle. _Whoosh_.

Riding the train is something of a hobby for him. The rhythmical shuddering of the train combined with the lack of people around him never fails to set him at ease. He doesn't like crowds; they make him feel like he's in enemy territory, completely surrounded.

Maybe Brown-Hair feels the same. James has never seen her accompanied by anyone, and she always seems a moment away from falling asleep while the train is moving.

Rattle, rattle. Whoosh.

She lifts her head: her eyes are blue. ''Your sister not with you?''

Why… is she talking to him?

''She's at home,'' he responds stiffly. Feeling the need to clarify, he adds: ''She has summer school.''

Brown-Hair rolls her shoulders. ''You don't?''

''No. You don't have work?''

She smiles, the expression crooked in the corner of her mouth. It's a pretty smile, he thinks. ''No.''

Rattle, rattle. _Whoosh_.

Brown-Hair drinks from her bottle some more. The rain's knocking on the window again, but she still doesn't have an umbrella. Maybe she doesn't mind getting wet. Or maybe she just forgot to bring it – again.

Rattle, rattle. _Whoosh_.

''You're very serious,'' Brown-Hair suddenly speaks up, and James startles, surprised at her voice cutting through the silence.

He doesn't say anything. What's there to say? It was just an observation.

Rattle, rattle. _Whoosh_.

Alright, so maybe the question bothered him a little bit. It's not like he was always so serious; he used to be such a hellion when he was a kid. But…

He shrugs when Brown-Hair continues to look at him expectantly.

Rattle, rattle. _Whoosh_. Rattle, rattle –

 _Screech_ –

 _Thank god_ for King's Cross.

#

Brown-Hair is staring at him.

Rattle, rattle. _Whoosh_.

She's wearing a blazer over her blouse this time, and her shoes are nicer. Not that James would know nice shoes from not-nice ones, but – well. The point is, Brown-Hair looks like she went somewhere classy before boarding the Express.

''I'm skipping work,'' she says, still looking at him.

He shifts uneasily. ''Oh.''

''Yeah,'' she huffs. ''Oh.''

Rattle, rattle. _Whoosh_.

''That's… bad?'' he tries, and then remembers that this a complete stranger. ''Why are you telling me this?''

Brown-Hair rubs her temples tiredly, and then opens her beer with a loud _pop_. ''I don't know. Maybe because you don't know me. Maybe because I'll cry if I don't tell someone. Maybe because you seem like you won't care either way. Pick any reason you like.''

James draws his knees in and rests his head on them. ''How old are you?''

''Twenty-six,'' Brown-Hair tells him. ''You?''

''Fifteen.''

She snorts. It's not a pretty sound. ''That's what I feel like. Like the last ten years of my life – I've always been here, on this train. It's like I never got anywhere, no matter how many times I bought a ticket. _This train_ ,'' she enunciates, '' _Leads to nowhere_.''

Rattle, rattle. _Whoosh_.

That's a heavy accusation to make. James likes this train, and the route it takes. The Hogwarts Express is, perhaps, the only thing he does like about Britain. But Brown-Hair doesn't look like she wants a dissertation on why the Express is a great train.

Besides, James wants to become a writer. He knows all those dirty little secrets about conversation, like metaphors. ''Maybe you were just boarding the wrong train all along. Try picking another one?'' he says lightly.

Just because he knows conversation, doesn't mean he enjoys it.

Brown-Hair gives him a _look_. It's so shocked and repulsed, it's almost amusing. And then she bursts into laughter. ''You should – haha, my _sides_ …''

He watches her as she giggles. Brown-Hair doesn't look like she's in her mid-twenties. She looks older than that, but now, while she's laughing… he can believe her about her age.

Rattle, rattle. _Whoosh_.

#

His father loves him. That's an unchangeable, undeniable truth.

 _His father loves him_.

But, his father is also disappointed in him.

Well, no, actually. His father is disappointed in James's continued refusal to deal with the world outside his family with anything other than apathy and outright aggression, not James himself.

Rattle, rattle. _Whoosh_.

Brown-Hair is skipping work, again. She has a bottle of beer with her, again. She is also looking at him, again.

''What?'' He has learnt by now that ignoring her never works.

She offers him a beer; a second bottle, this one unopened and uncontaminated by her nervous tick of tracing the lip with her dirty fingers. ''You look like you need one.''

This _woman_ …!

''I'm fifteen,'' he tells her coldly.

''You look like you need it. Trust me,'' she smirks, ''I know when people need a drink.''

Rattle, rattle. _Whoosh_.

His father refused to talk Mum into letting him off his punishment – for the camera _Lily_ ruined, no less – so he can't go back to France. Which means he's stuck here. James knows that his father would send him away in a heartbeat if only he _knew_ … but he doesn't know.

He accepts the bottle warily. Under her watchful gaze, he brings it closer –

Opens it –

''That's disgusting!'' he coughs. ''And it's not beer!''

Brown-Hair frowns at him. ''Did I ever say it _is_ beer?''

Well, no, she didn't. But the bottle definitely looks like a beer bottle. ''What is it, then?'' he asks suspiciously.

''Will you drink it?'' she pretends not to hear him. ''If not, give it back and I'll finish it.''

He keeps the bottle.

Rattle, rattle. _Whoosh_ –

''I hate Britain,'' he says, bitter and sick of the country he's trapped in. ''I hate the cities – especially London, with the tube and the pigeons and the stench – and the streets, and the people, and the _weather_ – I really hate the weather –''

Brown-Hair rests her legs on the seats next to her. ''Are you French? You have a bit of an accent going on. Plus, everyone knows the French really hate England.''

James blinks at her, torn from his tirade. ''I go to school in France,'' he explains wearily. ''Beauxbatons; maybe you've heard of it.''

She frowns a bit. ''Isn't that a school for girls who – how do you say it? A finishing school?''

She _didn't_ … ''No.''

Rattle, rattle. _Whoosh_.

''Relax, I'm just kidding,'' Brown-Hair smiles impishly. ''It got you out of your funk though, didn't it? Another drink?''

Oh.

He didn't realised he'd finished the bottle off.

#

To board the Hogwarts Express, you have to go to King's Cross and brave the crowds of snappy, wound up tourists and grumpy Londoners, all of whom move as a single, heaving gelatinous mass, their only goal to reach their designated train, and they don't care who they have to maim to get to it.

If the Express wasn't such a treasure, James would never step foot into that place. Thankfully, all the stress of King's Cross drains away once on board.

The Express used to be a bright scarlet red, with gilded decorations and a fancy interior. It's a shame how bad off it is. If James had money to throw around like his dad has, he would've bought the train and renovated it long ago. Alas, Harry Potter is of the firm belief that kids should make their own money instead of leeching on their parents.

Rattle, rattle. _Whoosh_.

For once, Brown-Hair isn't there when he gets on. It takes a full hour for her to show up, hair wet and lugging her beloved alcohol.

Their friendship, if it can be called that, is… easy, if secretive. He has no idea what her name is, or her job or family or anything. All he knows is her age.

James likes it like that.

Brown-Hair looks at him and smiles. ''You have a ladybug in your hair,'' she says at his raised eyebrow. ''Here, let me –'' She leans forward, closer than ever, and he feels a little breathless. Her hand smells like soap and nail polish.

Rattle, rattle. _Whoosh_.

When she pulls away, the ladybug is sitting her finger, perfectly still for just a moment. He blinks at the small beastie: it shifts once, spreads its wings – flies away.

Brown-Hair laughs at his stupefied look.

 _Is it just him_ …?

Rattle, rattle. _Whoosh_.

''I want to be a writer when I grow up.'' It feels so stupid to say it like that: _when I grow up_. He feels like such a little kid.

But Brown-Hair merely looks through the window. ''When I was little, I wanted to be a ballerina. My parents signed me up for ballet classes, and it turned out that I'm pants at it. So I decided I would be an explorer instead. Like Indiana Jones, I would go to weird, dangerous places and have grand adventures and be a hero – I ended up here.''

There's a frown on her face, a bit of disgust and amusement, aimed at herself. He suddenly feels a need to explain a bit about himself.

''Before I wanted to be a writer, I wanted to be a football player,'' he says.

She lolls her head in his direction. ''What changed your mind?''

He shrugs. How do you say: I almost killed my teammate during practice, just because he said something stupid? Easy – you don't.

Brown-Hair gives a little scoff at his non-answer. ''Your sister, what does she want to be?''

He thinks about it for a moment, before coming to a realisation. '' _Nothing_. She wants to stay with our parents forever, and not do anything. She'll probably marry and have a kid and never work a day in her life.'' His words are only a little bit bitter.

His father may love him and Albus, but he _adores_ Lily. Where such a lack of ambition would've earned them some serious punishment, with Lily Dad would probably just huff and call her his little princess.

Rattle, rattle. _Whoosh_.

#

''Why are you skipping work?'' This is the first time he asks this question, even though curiosity has been eating away at him for a while now.

Rattle, rattle. _Whoosh_. Rattle, rattle. _Whoosh_.

Just when he thinks Brown-Hair's ignoring him, she says: ''I'm not skipping work.''

''What do you mean?'' _Didn't she_ –? ''You said you were skipping it, some time back.''

Brown-Hair takes in a deep breath, shoulders shaking. ''I did, didn't I? Well, I lied. I don't have a job.''

''Why not?'' She always looks ready to go to work, what with her clothes and everything. And this, this is honest curiosity.

She huffs, draining her bottle dry. ''Geeze, kid, you're just full of questions, aren't you? Well, I don't have a job because I got fired. Way back. It was my fault.''

Rattle, rattle. _Whoosh_.

''Oh,'' he says eventually. ''That's alright, I suppose.''

Brown-Hair looks at him, shocked. There's a moist glint in her eyes James pretends not to see. ''Alright? Just… like that?''

''Yeah.''

A heartbeat. And then she laughs, not her usual giggle, but a deep belly laugh that takes off years from her face. ''You – you really are something, kid, you know that?''

Rattle, rattle. _Whoosh_.

''Why do you like this train so much?'' she asks him, voice full of some strange sentiment.

He licks his lips, thinking about it. Why _does_ he like it so much? It's not like he has any memories of it like his parents do. ''Because… It's a train. And it leaves London. And… It's old, and used, and falling apart. And the wheels make a weird screeching sound all the time, and the windows fog over when it's cold outside, and the sound of rain is beautiful against the iron roof, like god is knocking to see who's home. And…'' he trails off, seeing Brown-Hair's wide eyes. ''What?''

''Nothing,'' she smiles. ''It's just that I can't wait for you to write a book.''

Well, that's – ahem. ''Why do _you_ like it?'' he asks.

Brown-Hair's smile slips away. ''I don't. Not really – not at all, actually.''

''Then why…?''

''My brothers went to Hogwarts, you know. Back before the terrorists – well. Colin was sixteen, Dennis fifteen. Our Da was so glad, you know, being just a simple milkman, and then when his sons got such an opportunity – they died there. They… really loved this train.'' Her voice is a murmur by the end, and James stares at her, almost hypnotised.

She just told him about _her_ _family_.

Rattle, rattle. _Whoosh_.

''Anyway,'' she breaks the silence, offering some alcohol. ''Want some?''

#

The thing about being an antisocial arsehole is this: after some time, it stops being _because you don't want_ _to_ and becomes _because you don't know how to_. Human interaction becomes harder and harder the more out of practice you become, and… well.

James never did have the best memory.

He used to be best friends with Mason Wood. The two of them were inseparable. Thick as thieves, both charming and utterly reckless, with a fiery temper and a short fuse. They planned such great plans: becoming footballers, famous and known… And then they got in a fight, and Mason said _something stupid_ , and James snapped. He nearly eviscerated his best friend that day. He was thirteen.

Afterwards, James completely shut down and went to Beauxbatons, and rarely returned to England. Mason kept his mouth shut about the incident, and it was passed over as an assault by some unknown person – a robbery gone wrong.

They never spoke again.

Rattle, rattle. _Whoosh_.

Brown-Hair told him about her family. Perhaps… he should tell her about his?

He studies her for a minute. Brown-Hair has a short, choppy haircut, and blue eyes that crinkle in the corners when she's thinking. She isn't beautiful, but …pretty. _Very_ pretty.

The last girl James thought was pretty had been his girlfriend.

''What are you looking at?'' she asks, eyes narrowed. Look, more crinkles.

''I have two younger siblings,'' he tells her. ''A brother and a sister. You saw Lily. Albus is two years younger than me. He's fabulous.''

Brown-Hair giggles. ''Fabulous?''

He nods, very seriously. ''Yes, that's what he describes himself as.''

She tossed her hair back; he watches the movement the strands make as they fly. ''I suppose he must be fabulous, with you for a brother.''

Rattle, rattle. _Whoosh_.

 _What does she mean by that?_

#

''Do you have any… _problems_?''

He startles. There had been blessed silence on the train for some time now, and he hadn't expected Brown-Hair to speak up. ''What problems?''

She shrugs. ''I don't know – _problems_. Like, do you have a weird obsession with jam jars, or do you like to watch cats fighting over the garbage bin? Or, are you a closet sadist? Things like that.''

''You have an obsession with jam jars?'' He wouldn't put it past her, but he hadn't expected that to be sure.

Brown-Hair goggles at him. ''No, of course not! That was just an example. But, do you?''

He doesn't have to think about it: ''I used to have anger issues.'' Yeah, _anger issues_. Mason would have something to say about _that_.

''Really?'' She looks oddly vulnerable. ''Not anymore?''

Rattle, rattle. _Whoosh_.

''No.'' He just became an introvert instead. ''You?''

She exhales gustily. ''Yeah, I suppose I do.''

''I told you mine,'' he reminds her. Immediately, he feels foolish. _I show you mine and you show me yours_ , indeed.

Brown-Hair catches the childishness of the statement, and she laughs weakly. ''My therapist says that the reason I'm so disgustingly needy is that I'm obsessed with my dead brothers, and that I must've had some weird incestuous thing going on, because I'm attracted to blokes who remind me of Dennis.''

James blinks. _What_?

''Yeah, I know,'' Brown-Hair pulls her knees in. ''That's why I got fired, you know. I kissed one of my students.''

Rattle, rattle. _Whoosh_.

''You're a professor?''

She stares at him, like no matter how hard she tries, she can't look away. ''That's _it_?! That's what you got from all that?''

He shifts uneasily. What was he supposed to say? _Oh, that's good, because I'm pretty sure I_ like _like you, and it would have been awful if you didn't like me back?_ ''I don't –''

''God damn it, kid,'' she lets her head fall into her hands. ''You're so – I can't even – what is _wrong_ with you?''

Rattle, rattle. _Whoosh_.

#

Today is a good day.

James can feel it in his bones. Today is going to be a good day.

Even the weather reflects his mood, because for the first time in ages, the sky is clear and rain isn't falling. The Express pulls in front of him and he boards it, optimism making his mouth quirk up a little on the side.

Brown-Hair is already there, and this time, she isn't lugging around her booze. Instead, she has a plastic Tesco bag full of – _chocolate_?

''Come on, hurry up!'' she bounces a bit. ''We have candy!''

Rattle, rattle. _Whoosh_.

''That one is with strawberry filling, and this one has little bits of crushed mint inside. And _this_ one is my favourite: dark chocolate with caramel fudge filling and they put this fizzing candy inside, and when you eat it, it pops and fizzles on your tongue! Isn't that just awesome?''

He stares at her; she looks like a little kid on Christmas morning, showing off all the presents she got. It's adorable. ''I think I'll go with plain milk chocolate, thanks.''

Brown-Hair pouts. ''You're such a bore – live a little!''

''You… like chocolate?''

''Who doesn't?'' she laughs. ''I love it! I collect the wrappings, so please don't tear them – I have over a hundred different ones already. I wish I could go to Belgium, they have the _best_ chocolate there.''

Rattle, rattle. _Whoosh_.

There's s dreamy sheen to her eyes. ''I think… If everyone loved chocolate, then we would all have something to talk about, without fighting or arguing. Maybe, if the world was a better place, we could all talk about chocolate all day long. What do you think? All the evil people of the world, talking about chocolate…''

''Mason loves chocolate,'' he says in response.

Brown-Hair, curious, nudges him with her foot. ''Who's Mason?''

''He was my friend, a couple of years ago.''

''But not anymore?''

Yeah, _right_. The day Mason forgives him is the day James proclaims England the greatest place on earth. ''No,'' he says. ''Not anymore.''

Rattle, rattle. _Whoosh_.

She sighs and leans back in her seat. ''Maybe, one day, you'll get together and just… talk about chocolate. Hope springs eternal and all that.''

Today is a good day.

''Ha,'' he laughs a bit. ''Mason, talking about chocolate…''

#

''Do you think I could learn Japanese?''

Brown-Hair has a crease between her eyebrows when he looks at her. ''Why wouldn't you be able to learn it?''

She crosses her legs. ''I don't know. It seems like such a hard language to learn. All those words… And they speak so fast, too.''

''All native speakers speak fast in their language,'' he says, considering how quickly his classmates in Beauxbatons speak. He had been so lost when he first started attending his school. ''You can learn anything, given enough time and effort.''

''Mm,'' she hums. ''You think so?''

''Of course.''

Brown-Hair looks at him in the eye and demands: ''Tell me something in French. Something beautiful.''

James licks his lips. Something beautiful… He remember his Aunt Fleur; opens his mouth – '' _L'esprit de l'escalier_. The spirit of the staircase. It means… That feeling you get, when you're talking to someone, and the conversation ends, and you think about all those things you should've said, but didn't. It's…''

'' _Beautiful_ ,'' she whispers, awed.

''I suppose so,'' he agrees.

''There's no _suppose_ about it,'' she tells him. She looks annoyed. ''It's beautiful.''

Rattle, rattle. _Whoosh_.

She stays quiet for a moment while they listen as the Express pulls up at a station. ''What's France like?''

''It's amazing,'' he says, closing his eyes. ''The sun shines all day long, and the fields of lavender look like the sea – lavender on one side, the sea on the other, and the vineyards are absolutely everywhere. Full of flies and butterflies. We have gardens all around the school, and during the winter there are ice sculptures everywhere, and they glitter like diamonds. I… It's home.''

''What's your name?''

He stills. ''What?''

''Your name,'' Brown-Hair insists. ''What is it?''

''James,'' he says at last. ''James Sirius Potter. You?''

She stares forward. ''Catherine Creevey. Nice to meet you.''

Rattle, rattle. _Whoosh_.

The Express is moving again.

#

He would never dare ask his parents about love. It's unthinkable. He asks his Aunt instead. _What's love?_

 _Love,_ she says, _is different for everyone. It's fire and desire, clouds drifting free and storms clashing high above, and rain washing everything clean again. Love is torture, and pain, and it makes fools of the best men. Love can bring you up and tear you down. Love… is love._

Rattle, rattle. _Whoosh_.

Catherine isn't there when he boards the Express. He waits for three hours, but she doesn't come.

Rattle, rattle. _Whoosh_.

He comes back the next day.

And the next.

And the next.

And the next, and the next, and the _next_.

She isn't there.

 _Love_ , he thinks, _is just a scam_.

#

Rattle, rattle. _Whoosh_.

 _Catherine_ , he thinks. He only realises he'd said it aloud when she answers back: _James_.

She has an umbrella with her – it's raining again. No booze, but no chocolate either. He liked her better when she was just Brown-Hair. ''James… I'm so –''

He cuts her off. ''Was it just a game to you? A kid, crushing on you. Did it make you feel better about yourself? _Does_ it?''

''I was fired for this –''

He wants to hurt her. ''So you have a fetish for boys, is that it?''

''No!'' she snaps. ''You shut your mouth!''

He falls silent.

'' _James_ ,'' she repeats, and it's a low, keening sound this time, with no anger behind it. ''You _devastate_ me. Every time – every – you ruin me. All along, it was like drowning in shallow waters. You – I can't do this. I _can't_.''

''Can't?'' he asks. ''Or won't?''

''I can't. It's forbidden, James. But, never think that I don't _care_ – I _do_.''

Rattle, rattle. _Whoosh_.

''I'm going back to France,'' he tells her. He doesn't have the energy to be angry with her anymore. Catherine has always had the uncanny knack for getting under his skin. It isn't healthy.

She looks like a lost little girl. ''Oh.''

Tiredly, he slumps into his usual seat. ''I love you, as stupid as it is. I don't want to talk about it.''

Rattle, rattle. _Whoosh_.

Catherine shudders. ''Then… tell me something beautiful.''

''Something beautiful…'' He could do with more beautiful things in his life. ''Something… La douleur exquise. It's… exquisite pain, when you want the love of someone you know you can never have, and though it hurts, you love the pain, and you wish, just for a moment, that the world was a different, better place where everyone could talk about chocolate, and –'' he breathes in deep.

She closes her eyes. ''I think I'll sign up to learn Japanese.''

''You'll be good at it,'' he mumbles.

''You think so?''

''Of course.''

#

 _Setting_ : the Hogwarts Express – _Word_ : Drowning – _Dialogue_ : ''Now look. Now look what you made me do.'' – _Emotion_ : Surprised – _Sentence_ : No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't look away.

 **Unedited, un-beta'd**


End file.
